The Ensign
by Sorceress of Insanity
Summary: A new danger threatens to unravel the Enterprise from within: a virus that infects the crew of the starship, causing their survival instincts to take control, but not in any way they're prepared for. As the pathogens unleash havoc upon each crewman, a single Ensign may be their only hope to reverse the effects of the contamination. Or is it already too late?
1. Chapter One: Conundrum

**So, this story was created to infuriate a dear friend of mine as she was taking too long in writing me into her story. However, I started enjoying this creation too much and decided to not kill her off in a short, one chapter story with a horrible, gruesome death sugar-coated in anger, despair and the fiery depths of Hell. Instead I chose to develop it and the idea constantly changes and expands. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.**

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**Chapter One: Conundrum**

The Ensign smiles proudly at the work she's accomplished in the last few hours, knowing the delights of a hot chocolate and good novel awaited her company back at her quarters. Though she only had 3 years of Starfleet training and was the newest crewman of the glorified and renowned ship Enterprise, she had an accomplished life working amongst the engines of ships and stations, making her skill set highly sought after. She was talented, and a fast worker, ensuring she remain a valuable member of their crew. Aiming to one day run the engineering crew on a USS ship, she is content with her current position aboard the Enterprise and beneath the brilliant Montgomery Scott until she is prepared to do so.

Passing a fellow Ensign who had also just finished duty, they engage in small talk as they leave the Engine rooms. Not normally one for idle chit-chat and much preferring to be engrossed in her novel, Ensign Bocking flatters her partner in gossiping about the strange flu symptoms affecting a handful of people, Mr Scott among them.

"He vas acting wery strange yesterday and looked paler than I'we ewer seen him," Ensign Carly Belikov explains. She, like Ensign Chekhov, were Russian, though her accent is much less noticeable compared to his. She still carries a slight mispronunciation with each word containing 'w' and 'v', but she adjusted well to a more Americanised speech from her Starfleet Academy years based in San Francisco. "I'm telling you, Emily. He vas ill vith the wirus. He exhibited all the symptoms."

Ensign Bocking had heard some in passing, like nausea, fatigue, sweat, restlessness; but she remembers nothing of Mr Scott looking unwell. "Is it fatal?"

She shrugs, "I knov nothing. They're being wery secretiwe if you ask me."

"Is it contagious?" A look of worry flashes over her features.

Again, Ensign Belikov shrugs, "I'we not heard of anyone else admitting themselwes to sickbay since Mr Scott." She turns to scan the area. "Ah, this is my stop. I promised a friend I'd meet him at the restaurant this ewening. I'll see you tomorrov, Emily."

Departing, Ensign Bocking farewells her friend and continues towards her quarters. She takes out her communicator and opens it, thinking to call her superior, but her mind wanders back to Mr Scott yesterday, when she had last seen him. He didn't appear pale, or no more than usual. She frowns, recalling the events, remembering his subtle advances and flirtatious commentary, which she had written off as a characteristic of his Scottish charm at the time.

"Engineering to Ensign Bocking. We need you down here," her communicator suddenly blares, startling her back to reality. She realises her train of thought had detoured her as she stands outside of sickbay. She remains there, rigid and awkward as a nurse suddenly recognises her presence.

"May I help you?" she asks kindly.

Shaking her head as if she is experiencing a seizure, she stumbles upon her words. "I- I er... came to visit Mr Scott," she lies.

Dr McCoy suddenly steps around the corner, examining her with his permanently stern look and a raised eyebrow. The Ensign fancies him slightly, ever since her first encounter with the senior officer upon boarding the ship. She likes his serious eyes and his constant use of metaphors; his crude humour and pessimistic attitude always manages to evoke a swirl of confusion and attraction within her. "He's not here," he says with a frown.

"Ensign, I'm not getting any younger down here," her communicator speaks again.

It suddenly dawns on her the individual that voice belongs to, as well as the sickbay staff. Dr McCoy stares at Ensign Bocking as his nostrils flare in anger.

"You tell that jackass to get back to medical. He needs treatment immediately or he might infect the entire ship!" McCoy demands.

The realisation of the serious situation at hand startles the Ensign. She nods in response and awkwardly presses her communicator. "Sir, Dr McCoy requires you return to medical promptly."

"You tell McCoy that he can kiss me arse," Mr Scott snidely responds. "Ensign, to engineering. Now. I won't ask you again."

"I haven't discharged you, and you're in no state of mind to go galavanting around the ship and making orders. You don't take the bomb if you leave your disarming equipment at home," he yells into her communicator, confusing the Ensign momentarily. "Return immediately or I'll relieve you of duty."

A childish retort is heard with an accompaniment of delirious laughter. "Can't relieve me if you can't reach me, Doctor!" Mr Scott responds in a manic tone, followed by an abrupt disconnection to leave the Ensign's mouth hanging agape and her face pale in shock.

"Dammit, man!" McCoy groans and runs a hand through his hair. "The delirium's setting in."

"Delirium?" Ensign Bocking stares, unsure of how to react in this situation. Her superior demanded her presence, not once, but three times, and she ignores it. Meanwhile, a man she only met sporadically upon feeling ill used her like a phone booth. However, figuring the circumstance, she thought it wise to trust the instinct of a doctor, choosing to reject the consistent shrieks of Mr Scott over the communicator.

McCoy is pacing about the ward, devising what she can only assume is a plan of attack. His eyes dart infrequently towards her, and she feels uneasy, knowing that she is surely a part of his scheme. He runs a hand over his mouth and tugs at his chin as if he possesses a goatie; Ensign Bocking finds it slightly amusing until he pounces on her, taking her arm and dragging her into sickbay.

"Doctor...?" she asks worriedly.

"Sending security officers to retrieve him will only make him fearful of attack, and he may do something dangerous or stupid," he is talking rapidly as he sits her down on a bed. He gets to work with the nurses, scurrying about the lab, collecting equipment. Ensign Bocking watches as they pull a hypodermic needle from a case containing few others. McCoy continues, "We need him to feel like he's in control. He's asked for you."

The Ensign absorbs the information. "So you're saying I'm the bait."

"Regrettably. Now, it is contagious if one is exposed to it for a long duration, but this should prevent you from acquiring the virus for maybe, an hour," he presses a cold, cylindrical device to her neck and she feels the shot, causing her to wince. "Sorry," he says apologetically.

She nods understandably, but raises a hand to her neck regardless.

"We have to bring him back to sickbay, or the entire ship may become a playground to pathogens." He passes her a hypodermic syringe filled with a liquid. "This, when injected into his bloodstream, will cause a short blockage of haemoglobin to the brain."

Upon seeing Ensign Bocking's confusion, the nurse translates, "He'll pass out."

"But it will need about a minute to take effect," he adds. "We'll send some security to follow you, and after he falls unconscious, they'll bring him back for treatment."

"What if I can't get close enough to inject him?" she asks as she slips it into the top of her high boots.

McCoy pauses for a brief moment, then passes her a phaser locked on stun, and she takes it warily. "Stun him only if you absolutely have to. We've isolated the location of the virus in other patients to the dorsal nerve chord, so when you fire the phaser, he'll spasm like a hula girl on a dashboard. It will cause him to become more aggressive as his primitive brain will respond, but it may grant you enough time to inject him then high tail it like a robber fleeing with a bag of cash."

She nods and slides it into her belt, not failing to hear the 'may' within his theory. This mission is dangerous, but a man she admires is unstable and destructive enough to risk the lives of the whole crew in his delirium. She knows this must be done.

McCoy stares at her with uncertainty, knowing the hazards of her quest. His jaw sets and he frowns deeper, and the Ensign basks in his attractively stern gaze. Imagining him looking at her like that constantly, she feels warmth flushing over her cheeks as she blinks back to reality and her mission ahead.

"Ready?" he asks.

The Ensign nods, takes a breath and opens her communicator. "Ensign Bocking to Mr Scott. I'll be there presently."


	2. Chapter Two: Isolated

**I appreciate the reviews and wondrous comments for chapter one, and I thank you for taking the time to read my creation. I'd also like to thank my Beta reader and dear friend, Carly, for pointing out all 17 grammatical errors I made in this chapter *slow clap*. In all seriousness, thank you :)**

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**Chapter Two: Isolated**

Ensign Emily Bocking would never argue an opportunity to prove her independence and capability, but this mission is asking too much of the new crewman. Bile had been building in her throat during the doctors' instruction finale, overwhelming her. This 'influenza' seems a task for medical, and Mr Scott is the responsibility of the security staff, not for one who works amongst the engines of a ship. Despite her queasiness, she prepares herself, controlling her breathing, inhaling and exhaling periodically. She is determined, she is confident, and she is ready.

"One final thing," the Doctor adds, brow furrowing as he walks towards a patient on a neighbouring bed. The Ensign hadn't noticed the restraints binding his limbs like a prisoner; the sight once again evokes uneasiness within the young woman. "Mr Scott was part of the Second Wave."

"'Wave', Doctor?" she inquires.

"The first patients started arriving approximately 48 hours ago," he inclines his head towards the unconscious, detained man. "The next just under 12."

"We've begun to receive patients within the last hour, and they're arriving more frequently and in larger numbers than the last," a nurse explains, checking the monitors of another patient. "Ergo, waves One, Two and Three. The First patients exhibit the effects of our medication on the pathogens, giving us a marginal window of opportunity in the next Waves – and therefore Mr Scott's – to uncover a potential treatment of the influenza. Think of it as a Domino Effect."

McCoy's head dips in affirmation, validating the nurse's claims. "Exactly."

Boots meeting the floors surface and a straightened posture cue the embarkation of the Ensign's quest. The hypodermic needle occupying the limited space between her calf and footwear feels foreign and cold against her skin, and the phaser seems a heavy burden upon her. She has a chance to save Mr Scott because of his placement in the Second Wave, presenting the Ensign with a surge of determination.

McCoy guides her towards the entrance, calling the security officers over his communicator to meet the Ensign near her destination. A gentle hand is rested on her shoulder and a comfortable silence follows as his anxious eyes search her own. He smiles supportively, but it does not reach his eyes. "Good luck, Emily, and stay safe."

The Ensign is momentarily taken aback by his direct use of her name and she becomes all too conscious of the intimacy of his touch. A lead tongue leaves her incapable of speech, and her mouth hangs slightly in astonishment. "I, I–" is all she manages.

Suddenly, a monotonous wail sounds and the personnel respond actively, rushing towards the source of the crisis. In the commotion, whatever moment the Doctor and young Ensign shared is vigorously torn from them as McCoy's gaze splits from her own. His medical instincts take control as he dashes in the direction of the sound, barking orders at his fellow workers. McCoy's immediateness and professionalism are evident in his focus as he moves effortlessly around the utensils on the bed, attempting to revive a flat lining patient.

Ensign Bocking stands frozen in the entrance with alarm and fear for the crewman lying motionless as the staff work on him. She can't comprehend their medical 'language', but she understands the indomitable speed of their actions and the desperation behind their words. It is as if, despite their best efforts, they each can predict the austere and bleak outcome sure to follow.

Abruptly, the patient begins convulsing violently; the clatter of equipment falling to the floor is heard as the doctors attempt to restrain him further. Between the uniforms, the Ensign can make out the inhuman arch of the spine as the infected crewman seizures upwards as if he were an assistant in a magician's floating act. His mouth foams and hangs agape, and his pupils vanish into his head. The scene is enough to make the Ensign almost vomit in revulsion.

She hears McCoy shout "Quarantine!" and a nurse rush towards a panel beside a door as the doctors' slide the bed into a containment tube.

Not a moment too soon does McCoy notice the Ensign's presence and roar desperately, "Go on! Get out of here, Ensign!"

She doesn't wait, doesn't respond to the direct order. She simply runs, hearing the doors of sickbay seal tight behind her, trapping the medical staff with the infected in attempts to isolate the pathogens to the ward.

About halfway, her communicator sounds and the voice confirms what she already knows. "Lieutenant Gregory Steiger is dead," McCoy said grimly. Their connection ends, and the Ensign slows slightly for a brief moment of solemnity for her fallen crewman, and then she quests on.

Fear consumes Ensign Bocking as she speeds down to engineering and concern overpowers her senses as she pictures Mr Scott in the place of the patient she just witnessed dying. Her thoughts embody an image of Mr Scott's limp form stretched across the bed, doctors prodding and poking his lifeless figure, when he suddenly begins to convulse followed by the deathly sound of bones cracking as his body contorts into itself. The picture distorts into masses of crewmen, bodies piled atop each other like a fallen stack of cards. Ignoring the ailing feeling the image brings, her feet carry her in nimble desperation towards her destination, passing countless individuals acutely unaware of the danger they are currently in.

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-o0o-

Three security officers stand a few meters from the entrance of engineering, their brooding figures seeming to control the outcome of any situation, bringing the Ensign some comfort when they come into view. She still feels frightened of what she is about to do, but their presence – however minimal it had to be – gives her reassurance and much needed confidence.

Hand hovering over her phaser, Ensign Bocking cautiously steps into a deserted engineering. The officers had told her that Kirk ordered an evacuation of the area in wake of Mr Scott's situation, leaving the vicinity eerily silent. Boots stepping warily, careful to make minimal noise, her eyes scan the area searching for the familiar figure of her superior, but no one emerged from any obscured space.

She looks back over her shoulder at the officers and motions for them to follow with a flick of her head. Holding their phasers, the woman and one of the men step into the area, and the final man takes up the rear a few feet behind. Bocking knew of the men – Fitzpatrick and Yamada – from idle ship gossip, and the woman introduced herself as Lang. They were noticeably strong and their eyes were sharp and focused, also examining the area with scrutiny.

"Ensign," a voice suddenly resonates, echoing around the hollow space. "I told you to come alone."

Mr Scott.

The Ensign frowns to herself. "No you didn't, Sir," she calls back, slightly fearful that he may become anxious and dangerous as to the officer's presence.

In unison, the officer's grips on their phasers tighten; but they resist the urge to raise their weapons, knowing the effects the action might cause. Their heads dart, searching for the source of the voice, the source of the danger. They lean into one another, whispering in hushed tones.

A pause. "Oh… Well, I meant to," he retorts, followed by the delirious laughter of one going mad, entertained by humour only he understands. It makes Ensign Bocking's heart wrench in terror, knowing his time is running thin. "So, dump the chum, lassie."

Panic sets on her face as she slowly turns to face the three, each staring back with a fearlessness to pursue the threat, but are bound by orders. Their phasers remain poised before them and their stance is unchangeable.

"Or someone will have tae contact wee Meyer Lang back on Earth and tell her that mummy isn't coming home," he adds. He targeted the most vulnerable of the group, the weakest link in the chain, and everyone knew it. Pointing out her weakness, and seemingly noticing the drop in her facial features, he laughs again to himself, proud of his victory. "Wee orphan Meyer…"

"Alright," Lang calls back in angered defeat. She slides her phaser into her belt and tucks her charcoal-coloured fringe behind her ear to the dismay of her fellow officers. Her shoulders slag and she grits her teeth, infuriated by the fragility of her motherly bond to her child. It is evident she detests her weakness and decision as her fists clench and knuckles whiten. "I'll go."

Mr Scott's voice returns, "Take the lads with ye."

Ensign Bocking's head shakes in fear of her impending abandonment. Her eyes are wide and frightful as if about to face her demise, staring at the officers, Lang especially. Lips quivering and face pale, she is silent from shock.

"I'm sorry, Bocking," Yang whispers regretfully. Her eyes bear into the Ensign's, as if trying to deliver a telepathic message. "Keep calm, shoot straight."

"Now!" his tone rises exponentially and his temper flares. "Or will two other letters of regret be sent tae loved ones?"

Yang stares at the horror stricken Ensign, nods slightly, and each back slowly out of Engineering. A loud sound blares and the last sight she sees of them is their wide eyes as the emergency doors seal her in.


End file.
